


give me your mind, baby, give me your body

by Granspn



Series: queen in 3d [4]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, it's very tame but still
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-10-14 22:17:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17516852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Granspn/pseuds/Granspn
Summary: so i thought i might be able to add some of my trademark realism to the idea of some of the boys maybe sharing a tender smooch once or twicethese aren't really """"shippy"""" so to speak, though there will be some kissing, it's more like the manifestation of misplaced affection since despite what it may seem like i'm really trying to preserve some semblance of realism to these fics lolchapter one features brian and roger but there may be more pairings to come...





	1. late nights and early mornings

It had been a long day. The gig had been fine, not great, but fine, and Brian and Roger had both been up at the arsecrack of dawn long before they’d even thought about getting up on stage that night. First, Brian spend the better part of three hours assisting the first year physics students in the lab while Roger suffered through some intoxicatingly boring lectures on the endocrine system. Then Roger had headed downtown to sell some crap and maybe some cool stuff as well at his stall in Kensington Market while Brian had a conference with some professor that was only about half as productive as he’d hoped it would be. Riding the tube to meet Roger, Brian had wondered if it wasn’t too late to call off the show and just have a quiet night in, maybe watch a film or have a round or two of scrabble with the guys. But no, he figured, Tim wouldn’t go for that. 

Which was why, hours later, he and Roger found themselves exhausted, sprawled on the carpeted floor of Brian’s tiny sitting room, sharing a joint Tim had actually made him pay for, and questioning just about every life decision they’d ever made. Roger smoked a lot of cigarettes and Brian didn’t smoke at all, but every once and a while they’d try again to see what it was about pot that everyone in their crowd seemed to find so delightfully intoxicating. Mostly it made Brian sleepy and Roger hungry, but after a week of nightly gigs to tough London crowds, they figured they’d try Frisco’s secret weapon for how to unwind. 

“I’ve got blisters on me fingers,” Roger hummed to the room at large, even though its only other occupant was lying inches away from his face. He held his hands above his head and watched as he made his fingers dance, catching the light that streamed in through Brian’s blinds. It was night, and it was late, and New York may be the city that never sleeps, but it was becoming apparent to Roger that despite its lack of a reputation, London rarely settled down for more than a cat nap.

Brian reached up with his left hand to touch Roger’s delicate fingers, so intrigued by the intricate patterns he was tracing in thin air. Without thinking, he ran his calloused fingertips along the back of Roger’s palm, connecting birthmarks into invisible constellations.

“Funny,” he said aloud as he let his hand fall back to rest on his stomach.

“What is?” Roger asked softly. 

“Your friend from the shop. Quite a character.” Brian hadn’t even realized Freddie’d been on his mind until he was talking about him. “I think he was the only one there tonight who actually enjoyed our performance.”

***

Brian had met the mysterious Freddie for the first time that afternoon, down in Kensington, when he went to pick up Roger. 

“All right, Rog?” Brian had called behind the counter, but Roger was neck deep in some till calculations and didn’t hear. Instead, Roger’s friend had swerved round and given Brian a real once over. 

He looked just like the kind of person Roger would hang around with. The ridiculous outfit, the soft long hair, the scrutinizing dark gaze of someone looking for their big break in every fledgling crevice. But the way he carried himself was totally unique. While Brian knew he was lanky and awkward, and Roger bounded around like the Sheriff of Nottingham, this guy moved like he was floating. With one hand resting delicately on a cocked hip, he gesticulated wildly with the other, beginning by pointing a finger straight at Brian’s hooked nose.

“You must be Tim,” he said confidently. That startled Roger from his reverie, but upon looking up and seeing Brian, he elbowed Freddie in the side, who amended his statement.

“You must be Brian,” he said, briefly flashing a smile. 

“Yes, that’s me. Er, it’s Fred, right?”

“Freddie,” he enunciated. 

“Ah. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Freddie. I’ve heard an awful lot about you, I must say.”

“All of it incomprehensibly magnificent, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure,” Brian said, anything else he would have added trailing off into oblivion as Freddie suddenly turned away to give some woman the hard sell about a blazer she was eyeballing. Roger rolled his eyes fondly and hopped the counter, waving to Freddie as they left, pointing to his watch to indicate they had to get to their gig. They made it back near campus just in time for the sound check, Tim eyeing them suspiciously as they arrived so much later than Brian would usually stand for. 

And then he was there, at the show, watching them like they were antiques to be appraised, searching diligently for but hopefully finding none of their dings and scratches and agreeing to take them at asking price. Brian could have sworn he saw the faintest hint of eyeliner tracing the edges of his eyes, transforming him from an eccentric design student into a fascinating hieroglyph begging to be deciphered. It was all Brian could do not to perform the entire show to him, especially given the fact that nobody else seemed to be paying half as rapt attention. Sure, it didn’t surprise him that Roger would have a friend like that, but he amazed him anyway. 

***

“I’m sure they liked it,” Roger said, answering Brian in that delicate voice he reserved for late nights and early mornings, when he wasn’t afraid to be seen as soft or small or lacking in any of the things real men were supposed to have in spades.

“What?”

“The gig. Not just Freddie. Though I think he did really like it. I think he fancies himself a musician as well but I’ve never really heard him play,” Roger mused as a smile danced across his lips. He rolled over onto his side so he’d be facing Brian if he did the same. Brian didn’t seem to notice him shift, and instead stayed staring at the ceiling as if the answer to life, the universe, and everything were hidden there in the damp patches and astronomically correct glow stars he’d placed there years ago. 

“He seems very interesting. I want to know what he’s really like,” Brian said, his mind still on Freddie the enigma. 

“He is very interesting. What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s no way he’s really like, I don’t know, like _that_ ,” Brian said, gesturing vaguely to the air, letting his wrist fall limp as his arm hung directly above him.

“Stop that!” Roger said, giggling, as he wrestled Brian’s arm out of the air and back down to his side. “He is like that,” he said in his vulnerable little voice. Then, same tone, still so innocent, so unexpectant, “Roll over.”

“What?”

“Face me,” Roger said. More than anything, he sounded curious, like he was just wondering what would happen if they behaved like people in this situation might usually behave.So Brian, always a slave to curiosity, did as he was asked. 

“Wow,” Brian said, just as softly as Roger, when he finally got a look at him from that angle.

“What?”

“Your eyes are enormous.”

“Shut up about my eyes.”

“No, I’m serious. You have these like, huge, beautiful, feminine eyes. I bet you’d make a very pretty girl, Rog. Actually, I know you would. I’ve met Clare.” 

“I’m going to kill you,” Roger told him, but they were both smiling from ear to fucking ear, quite aware of the ridiculousness of their current circumstances. 

“They’re blue,” Brian observed.

“Of course they’re blue.” 

“Even in the dark.”

“Even in the dark,” Roger confirmed. He peered in between them to the ashtray he’d placed there for convenience and safe keeping. The joint was completely dead in a ditch there, no embers to reignite, and Roger thought about how much he could go for a cigarette. But that would involve getting up and leaving behind this moment which for some reason he really didn’t want to do. Why, he wasn’t sure. He could see Brian, talk to Brian whenever he felt like it. He could even gaze lovingly into his eyes whenever he felt like it if he really wanted to. Christ, was that what he was doing? It certainly felt like that. It certainly felt like if it was some girl whose flat he was in right now and not his incredibly geeky and annoying bandmate’s that he would be going in for the kill right about now. 

“You’re not going to kiss me, are you?” Brian said, flashing the smile he so rarely let anyone know existed. He preferred to appear to the world as a brooding intellectual, it would seem, at least from looking at any photograph ever taken of him; but sometimes, maybe when he thought anyone wasn’t looking, he’d display the fact that he was incredibly human as well, through that simple involuntary act of smiling. Roger thought it was absolutely dazzling. 

“Of course not,” Roger said, smiling back at him just as widely. “Why would I do a silly thing like that?” 

“Absolutely no reason."

So Roger did. He just leaned over and kissed him, their bodies colliding awkwardly as they tried to reconcile the desire to shift and move their arms with the fact of their being on the floor. 

“What are you doing?” Brian mumbled into Roger’s mouth. 

“What?” Roger said, opening his eyes but not moving away. 

“What are you doing?” Brian repeated, though he didn’t move back either. 

“I- um. It just felt right.” For a brief moment, maybe one second more, Roger closed his eyes again and deepened the kiss, taking a breath against Brian’s slightly scruffy cheek. Then, he simply pulled away and lay back down. Brian mirrored him so they were both facing the ceiling once again. 

“Why did you do that?” Brian asked unassumingly, genuinely curious and nonjudgmental like bloody always. 

“I’m not sure,” was Roger’s unsatisfying but honest answer. 

“What did you think?”

“I’m not sure,” Roger answered again. 

“Right.”

“I’m not sure it’s for me, if I’m honest.”

“Me neither,” Brian agreed. “Could’ve been worse, I suppose.”

“Well, yes, the taste of you in my mouth didn’t make me actively want to _vomit_ , Bri, so I guess that’s a good sign.”

“All right! Jesus. I’m just saying.” 

“Well, let’s just hope you’re a better lay than a snog, yeah? Or I pity your girlfriend,” Roger said as he pushed himself upright, giving Brian an encouraging pat on the chest before he stood up, going to get that cigarette after all. 


	2. outrageous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter featuring soft brian and freddie bc i can't write them being any other way

The party had been at Brian’s flat. Well, it wasn’t really a party and the flat wasn’t really Brian’s, not anymore, but the guys were all around and Brian’s stuff was all still scattered about one of the bedrooms, so at least it was operatively true that yes, the party had been at Brian’s flat. 

Roger and Freddie had been sharing an apartment for a few months now, but despite the success of their album ( _first_ album, Freddie would say to the unrelenting chorus of Brian and John telling him he was being too optimistic) they were still basically broke. So they’d offered that Brian should move out of his tiny flatshare and into theirs while they saved up and made wise investments and all the things real adults did once they’d graduated university. It wasn’t their fault they were in more of an “out of college, money spent, see no future, pay no rent,” scenario, to quote the great St. Paul. So, as something like a farewell present, the messers Taylor and Mercury were having a little get together in Brian’s erstwhile flat. The only hitch in their brilliant and thoughtful plan was that in the year of ’73, Brian still hadn’t given up his dream of being a doctor of astronomy (“astrophysics, actually”) and was actually holed up in his room plotting a star chart or whatever it was his research actually consisted of, instead of enjoying himself amongst his best and closest friends. 

“Knock knock,” Freddie said softly, standing in the doorway to Brian’s now sparsely decorated bedroom. Brian was sat cross legged in the middle of his bed with some large books and an incomprehensible chart strewn in front of him. The B-Side to Abbey Road was playing absently on his personal turntable, one of the few possessions he couldn’t bear to pack until the absolute last minute. 

“Hello, Fred,” Brian said, looking up with a smile after he finished making a little note in pencil in one of his volumes, “Everything going all right out there?”

“Yes, despite this being a party in your honor, somehow we’re getting on without you,” Freddie said with a quick glance to the rest of the guys. Roger appeared to be employing Deaky in a hands-on demonstration of how to lead a waltz while Veronica captured moments on a polaroid in between their bouts of hysterical laughter. The girl Roger had brought along was schmoozing with Brian’s flatmates, making reference to the paintings they’d thoughtfully hung along the walls without any help from Brian himself. Full swing, basically.

“Oh, I can’t imagine how,” Brian said, smiling fondly at the thought of his friends all having a lovely time, even if it was without him. Just knowing they were out there, having a laugh and ready to accept his company at any time was enough to make him feel contented, especially as he’d had a real burst of inspiration earlier and really thought he could get some work done this evening. 

“Still,” Freddie said, grabbing a book from beside Brian and dumping it unceremoniously on the floor, “I think I’ll join you in here.” He hopped up on the bed, taking the place of the tome and leaning his back against the wall. He closed his eyes for a moment, waiting for Brian to wrap up, who did so dutifully. Despite a slight shake of the head, Brian couldn't help but do what Freddie wanted, so he set his work aside, dog-earing his page and making a few final marks and underlines. 

“Okay, Fred,” he said, “I’m here.”

“Nice to see you.” 

“I suppose you’re about to be seeing a lot more of me,” Brian said. 

“Oh, don’t worry about that, darling. I think it’s going to be great fun,” Freddie reassured him with a pat on the arm. It was fleeting, though, and he let his hand fall back into his lap. He wished he’d brought a drink with him just so he’d have something to fiddle with. He didn’t want to smoke as that would only annoy Brian, even if he wouldn’t say anything about it. So instead he traced patterns in the paisley of the duvet cover peeking through beneath his crossed legs. 

“It’s certainly going to be exciting. Never a dull day in the Mercury-Taylor household, I don’t imagine.”

“You don’t imagine quite correctly,” Freddie said with a smirk, thinking of hectic mornings on the way to odd jobs, the both of them running late, scrambling in the kitchen for coffee and burning toast; and he thought of of their version of a quiet night in, which consisted less of board games and cuddling by the fire and more of dressing up in feather boas and platform boots and dancing like they were possessed, blasting the most glamorous music they could find on the radio and simply producing it themselves if they couldn't find any. He didn’t quite know how Brian would feel about that environment. He did know that he was just going to have to suck it up and enjoy himself and the fact of splitting rent three ways among the best mates he could scrounge up. 

Instead of saying any of that, Freddie gave into his deep seated need to fidget, and leant down to pick up the book he’d discarded before. As he started leafing through it, Brian took that as permission to return to his work. He didn’t unfold his huge celestial map again, thank the lord, but he did grab a book of his own to begin diligently annotating. After a few moments of intellectual stillness, Freddie became distracted by Brian’s absentminded humming along to the record and looked up, taking a moment to assess his bandmate in profile. 

Now, Brian wasn’t the type of guy Freddie would usually go for. Honestly, Freddie didn’t usually actually go for any type of guy, but Brian wasn’t even the type of guy Freddie fantasized about going for. No, he preferred someone with a little more meat on his bones, or at least someone who didn’t look like a strong draft would blow him into next week. Typically, he didn’t care for the idea of those strange bony fingers running through his hair, or his own hands tangled in a web of fluffy curls. But something about the warm light from Brian’s lone lamp in his cramped combination bedroom-observatory softened the sharpness of his angular face, tempered the crystal hazel of his eyes and made the whole thing come together rather beautifully. This time, he did say something.

“You look good in this lighting,” he said matter-of-factly, as he said all things that were a matter of fact. Brian startled and looked up to meet his gaze.

“What’s that?” he asked underneath a laugh. 

“The light,” Freddie said again, holding his chin high to meet Brian as close to eye-level as he could, “It flatters you.” 

“Oh,” Brian answered softly.

It didn’t take a lot to get Brian to let his guard down; he practically lived with the drawbridge half open. But Freddie saw in that moment one last veneer lifting and he knew that he had to know what it would be like, just once, and also that Brian wouldn’t stop him. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to just, what? Lean in? Pucker up? Instead he looked up at Brian, his lips hanging slightly parted, and just hoped he would get whatever message he was trying to send.

Brian was mesmerized. He usually was, since he thought Freddie was mesmerizing. Agonizingly so. He was like an intricate jigsaw puzzle, except no, he wasn’t. He wasn’t scattered pieces, just waiting for someone dedicated enough to come and put them together. He was fully formed and still, somehow, so puzzling. He was more like a riddle, a theorem requiring an elaborate proof that you can only come up with if you have just the right intuitions and prior experience. Brian had none of those. 

Most days, Brian thought he was just being himself. But then he saw Freddie and wondered if there was a man like that hiding somewhere, buried deep within himself, repressed by years of just trying to get through it all without causing a stir right up until the moment you want to. He admired him, probably more than anyone he’d ever known before or ever would know. He was a genius without being sullen, friendly without being insincere, and hilarious without being cruel. And with Roger as the conduit between them there could surely be no limit to the electricity they'd generate. Yet staring into those rich brown eyes, Brian found himself frozen. 

Freddie decided to warm him up. 

Gently, gingerly (more gently and gingerly than even when he’d first kissed Mary, so curious what it would be like, tamping down the part of himself that was saying “maybe not, mate,” and instead leaning into the uncertainty) he let himself kiss him softly, softly enough that it wouldn’t seem cruel if Brian recoiled at the thought, let alone the act. Except he didn’t. He stayed with him, and Freddie even peeked to see that his eyes were closed. So Freddie kissed him harder, if only by a modicum. He ran an inquisitive finger along his sharp jawline until it came to rest on his collarbone. Brian’s hands hadn’t moved from their grip around his leather bound book. 

So Freddie opened his eyes and closed his mouth, licking his lips once out of instinct as he tried in vain to focus on Brian’s eyes from up so close. He realized he was up on his haunches, so he lowered himself as gracefully as possibly back into a seated position on the springy mattress.

“Hm,” Brian said, after Freddie had peeled back.

“Hm? What’s ‘hm?” Freddie asked, suddenly more nervous than he’d been in his entire life, in stark contrast to the wave of impulsiveness that had apparently overtaken him.

“What? It’s nothing,” Brian said, his voice creaking as he spoke quietly even with the din of the party just across his threshold. 

“No. I demand you tell me what you were thinking.” Which just made Brian laugh. “I’m serious, Brian,” Freddie insisted.

“It’s not important. I just don’t know how this keeps happening to me. First Roger, now you. Though I suppose I’m not entirely blameless. Is it quite strange that I'd expect it more of him than you?” Brian wondered aloud, his mind already taking him onto the next topic while Freddie was still firmly planted about fifteen seconds in the past.

“You’re telling me you’ve kissed Roger and I haven’t?”

“In fairness, Fred, he kissed me,” Brian said, hardly believing that he was actually saying that. But, he supposed, if he was going to confide in anyone, who better than Freddie. Who, in turn, was nearly at a complete loss for words. 

“That. Is. Outrageous!” He finally said once he’d gathered his thoughts, incredibly eloquently, he figured, given the current circumstances. 

“It is a bit, I suppose,” Brian admitted.

“I for one will not stand for any more of this, of this, I don’t know, _canoodling_ within the band. I officially decree it forbidden.” 

“I don’t think it’s going to be awfully hard to enforce, that one,” Brian said, his brow furrowing almost instinctively. 

“No, I suppose not. And you,” he said, actually pointing at Brian like there was going to be some kind of confusion about his words’ intended recipient. “Don’t you dare worry about this. I am over you. Christ.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

“You lie, Brian. You’re always worried.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cool so lmk what you think!
> 
> i am a bit comma happy, aren't i,,,,,,, anyway
> 
> i may or may not add another chapter or two to this... thinking deaky/roger but the story isn't fully formed yet so uh we'll see how that goes. anyway. thanks for the kudos and comments! reading what you guys have to say always makes my day!


	3. a big improvement from the world’s most passive aggressive guitar solo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ah, the long awaited third installment. This one features some silly and drunken Roger and Deaky circa 1984 for a bit of fun

John wasn’t exactly sure where he got his reputation. Actually, he wasn’t quite sure what his reputation was. Some thought he was quiet and demure, a respectable husband and father; some (cough, _Brian,_ cough) thought he was a cutting and sarcastic piece of shit, while others still figured him a secret fox or a party animal. What he did know was that at the present moment he was extremely fucking drunk, and whatever was playing at this party was the best fucking song he’d ever heard. 

Scanning the crowded room looking for a familiar face, he eventually landed on a bleached blond blur swirling around in the vicinity of a chocolate fountain. Doing his best not to stumble too much, he made his way over and practically fell down on to the cushioned bench beside his friend. He lifted his arms as John fell and placed one back down around him while John rested his head on his shoulder. 

“Hello, Deaky!” Roger greeted him enthusiastically. 

"Who is this? They're good!” John yelled over the din of the party, gesturing vaguely around him to indicate the music, “Whoever wrote this is a bloody genius!” He peered up expectantly at Roger, whose expression of confusion was only somewhat masked by his dark sunglasses. 

“Are you joking?” 

“No! I’m deadly serious, Rog, what is it?” 

“Well, yeah, it’s one of Freddie’s! _I’m gonna make a supersonic man out of you…”_ Roger sang along for a bar of the prechorus. 

“No shit!” John said, his eyes growing wide with recognition. “Well, we sound bloody good, don’t we?”

Roger laughed. “Yes, I suppose we do,” he agreed, giving John a little encouraging pat on the arm. John, in turn, closed his eyes and leaned in to Roger’s side, the alcohol humming inside of him keeping him warm but not warm enough to just sit there when there was another human being so close. 

It had been years since they’d made music they all felt proud of. As much as he’d enjoyed getting to experiment more with his tastes on their last album, he knew how upset some of the guys (cough, _Brian_ , cough) had been about it and was keen to be back on track. So now, two years later, finding themselves banging out hit after hit, even getting Brian’s blessing to use synths on “Break Free,” felt like the biggest improvement from “Back Chat” and the world’s most passive aggressive guitar solo. Generally speaking, things were looking up. And John was looking up at Roger, trying to remember why exactly he’d come over here in the first place.

“Oh, yes!” He said aloud, “Don’t stop me now.”

“What’s that?” Roger said. 

“I’m glad we’re doing well again. It was such a bummer to be fighting all the time since this was just supposed to be a bit of fun, you know? But I think I may have become a rock star in the process.” 

“You think?”

“Yeah.” 

Roger lifted his sunglasses and let them rest in his hair, looking down at John with those big blue eyes that made him so convincing as the schoolgirl in their video. 

“Do you regret it?” Roger asked. John looked away and off into the distance. He did and he didn’t. Most of the time, he was just going with the flow and seeing where life took him. It was just that when he was nineteen he figured that would be into a lab at university or an electronics shop in Leicester, not a rock band touring stadiums and American cities and throwing parties so extravagant not a single person could remember the next day what had transpired there the previous night. And he didn’t like fighting about drum machines and telecasters or giving interviews about what his lyrics meant, even if he did love making music and giving the people what they wanted. Who wouldn't? 

“No, not really,” John said after he realized he’d probably been silent for too long. “Can’t imagine my life without Freddie. You and Brian, too, of course, but no matter how you slice it, he’s changed me for the better, I’d say. Wouldn’t you?” 

“Of course,” Roger said with a fond smile, “He’s my best friend.” 

“ _Uhhh_!” John moaned in a well-loved imitation of Freddie on their album, “ _You’re my best friend_ ,” he sang, at which Roger violently burst out laughing.

“Um, Freddie,” Roger said in his impression of John, which, while his Brian was essentially a Cockney accent and his Freddie just involved saying “ _darling_ ” after every phrase, mostly consisted of going a bit nasal and dropping more R’s, “Could you please stop having an orgasm on my single?” John laughed at the memory of Freddie in the recording booth experimenting with the outro, trying all sorts of sounds and effects while Brian and Roger mocked him mercilessly from the control room before they settled on the slightly sensual moan that had eventually gone out. 

“That entire record is such a mess! I can’t believe they let us get away with that. You know I still hear ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ on the radio sometimes?”

“Well, It’s a hit, Deaky. Of course they’re gonna play it.” 

“Hm,” John sighed, laying his head back down on Roger’s padded shoulder, “I suppose it is.” 

After a few moments, Roger began shifting uncomfortably. John grunted and mumbled to ask what was wrong.

“Your perm is in my nose,” Roger said, swatting John’s puffy hair out of his face, “Maybe you should leave the whole rescue poodle look to Brian. I’ve always fancied you as more of a spaniel, anyway.” 

“The man doesn’t have a monopoly on curly hair.” 

“Obviously not,” Roger said, laughing as he rolled his eyes. John just fluffed his hair more in defiance as he held eye contact with Roger. 

In his periphery John could see just how alone they were. No one seemed to be paying the chocolate fountain any mind any more, having moved from solids to liquids for the night, and the girl who’d been on Roger’s other shoulder when John had arrived had left to find someone who’d actually pay attention to her for more than fifteen seconds at a time. With the speakers blasting good old fashioned rock and roll sufficiently loud to keep everyone distracted, Roger and John found themselves as ignored as they would have been at the pub some fifteen-odd years ago, trying to get girls to notice them and hoping they thought musicians were sexy even if they were actually engineers and dentists. Yes, despite that it was ostensibly _their_ party, celebrating the launch of _their_ groundbreaking new album, nobody seemed to be paying them any attention. 

“Are we old, Roger?” John asked, sounding contemplative. 

“I don’t know, John, when were you born? ’50?”

“August the 19th, 1951.”

“Sure. So what are you? Thirty-two, thirty-three? I don’t think that’s old. Is that old? If we’re old, what are Brian and Freddie?” 

“Bloody ancient, I suppose.” 

“Jesus.” 

“Do you ever think you’ll settle down with someone?” 

“I have settled down, haven’t I?”

“I don’t know, have you?”

“Maybe not relatively speaking,” Roger said, gesturing to John and his argyle sweater, symbolic of his nature as the quintessential dad. John just laughed.

“It is a bit silly isn’t it? Sometimes there are these photos of us where Freddie is just being, I don’t know, Freddie, and you’re in a leopard skin waistcoat wearing sunglasses indoors and Brian’s got on some leather jacket and those ridiculous clogs and his hair’s miles high and I just wonder what the hell we think we’re playing at. I mean, we don’t really behave like regular people in, you know, any given circumstance.” 

“Would you rather we did?” Roger asked, sounding sincere. John sighed.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I just want us to do whatever makes us happy. But I want to be sure you’re not all just playing it up because it’s what you think people want to see. Not that I necessarily think that’s what’s going on…” he trailed off for a moment. “I just want you to be happy. I really just want you to be happy.” 

“Hey, hey, Deaky, don’t worry! I am happy. See?” Roger said. “Don’t forget to smile.” 

“Okay, I won’t,” John said, a goofy grin spreading across his own face as he spoke. “Hey, can I do something weird?” John asked, craning his neck again to look up at Roger.

“How weird? Leopard skin vest weird? Because I know from experience that I can handle that.” 

“Can I, you know, kiss you?” John asked.

“Uh. Why?” 

“Life experience?” 

“What, never kissed a bloke before?” John shook his head.

“Been with Ronnie since I was twenty, haven't I?”

“John, are you having a midlife crisis or something?”

“Why do you assume I’m going to die at age sixty?” 

“Sixty-six. And I don’t, I just–“ but he was interrupted by John smashing his mouth against his.

John wasn’t even thinking. He just had to do it. He’d never even thought about Roger like that before, or any of the guys for that matter. He didn’t even think that’s what was happening now. For some reason he just needed Roger to know how much he cared about him and under the influence of the great social lubricant the only way he could think to do so was apparently to make out with him. 

Roger just laughed into John’s mouth and kissed him back. Deaky was really going for it, too, running his hands through Roger’s choppy haircut and threatening to displace his shades. Roger let his tongue run across John’s as he set down the drink he’d had in his free hand, then reached over to pull them closer together as he tried not to fall backwards into the fruit display. He figured he would just let him go until his curiosity was fulfilled, and it’s not like John was the worst kisser in the world. Would he really have four children already if he was that bad at it? So they just went on like that, minute after minute, until someone seemed to notice them.

“So, should I have told Fred he really did have a chance with Deaky all those years ago?” A familiar voice came over Roger’s shoulder, followed quickly by another.

“Oh, please! You know I’ve only ever had eyes for you, Maggie,” Freddie said to Brian as Roger and John startled and quickly pulled apart, wiping their mouths on the backs of their hands and briefly refusing to make eye contact. 

“Care to explain yourselves?” Brian said, sitting down on Roger’s other side and laying an arm around him.

“Not really,” John said, finally looking at Roger and starting to laugh. 

“Slow night, I suppose,” Roger said, doing his best to sound casual.

“It a particularly effective method of contraception, I must say,” Freddie said ruffling the lovebirds’ hair from behind before coming around to the front of the bench and taking a seat in the free spot next to John, so close he was practically in his lap. “Yes, I suppose we’re not bad for four aging queens,” Freddie went on as another one of their songs came on, Roger’s new one about the radio with the words he could never quite memorize. 

“No,” Roger said, flicking his sunglasses back down over his eyes and observing the party in 20/20 vision, “not bad at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for sticking with this one! i'm open to doing more chapters if anyone's interested but I don't have any other pairings in particular planned.
> 
> as always, let me know what you think! i love hearing your feedback!!


	4. god knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, should I have told Fred he really did have a chance with Deaky all those years ago?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back by popular demand is... this fic! this chapter featuring antics and light angst as per usual, discussion of freddie/deaky and maybe a little something for fans of freddie/roger. who knows?
> 
> takes place circa 1974 pre- sheer heart attack

Sometimes Freddie worried about John. He was so young compared to the rest of them, especially him and Brian, yet he seemed so keen to get his life started just about as fast as possible. In a serious relationship barely into his twenties and with an honors degree in electronics a.k.a. the most practical possible fallback option, John was poised to leave the band whenever he liked, whenever the real world started calling his name louder than Freddie and Roger from the back of the bar, louder than the screaming of the Red Special on stage, begging for a bass line to tether it to earth from the stratosphere, or louder than the fans who never quite seemed to chant his name as much as the others’. So Freddie worried about John. 

He wanted him to know he was loved, and important, and so crucial to the band that he’d quite literally been the missing link to their success, saving them from months of floundering without a bassist and helping them to propel themselves into the limelight. He worried that between his own ostentatiousness and Roger’s performative arrogance and Brian’s unrelenting perfectionism that John wouldn’t know where he stood. He wanted him to know that he was standing in exactly the right place to keep them anchored and that when he was doing his thing no one in the world should have been able to keep their eyes off him. Which was when Freddie found himself staring at him rather longingly as John made his way out of the kitchen and down the hall toward his room in the flat they were pitifully attempting to sell, unable to stop his eyes from tracing the gentle wave of his hair down to the small of his back and along his tightly clad legs and–

“Are you actually _eyeing_ Deaky right now?” Brian said as soon as John was out of earshot, breaking the silence and shocking Freddie out of his reverie.

“What? No. I don’t know. I can’t help myself. It’s just he’s quite beautiful, isn’t he?” Freddie said, suddenly unable to think straight. 

“If you say so.”

“What, is that not a normal thing for your average heterosexual friend to say about your other, happily taken, heterosexual friend?” 

“Can’t be sure. My average heterosexual friend is some bizarre amalgamation of Rog and Deaky so he’s quite weird and can’t be trusted.” 

“Fair enough,” Freddie said, tapping the kitchen tabletop with his fingertips as if it were a piano. 

“But seriously, are you okay?” Brian pressed, “Is there something you want to talk about? Though I suppose you may want to wait for Roger to get back on that front.”

“Please, darling, don’t sell yourself short. I just can’t tell what I’m feeling is all. I’d hope it’s more of a general loneliness than a specific longing but sometimes I hold his gaze for too long and I start, I don’t know, imagining things." Freddie didn't immediately want to discuss his constant state of anxiety about John leaving them to go be prime minister or something. Besides, "Mostly I think I just love his hair. And his attitude. And his excellent bass playing!” 

“Well, yes, he is quite a good player, I’ll give you that,” Brian said with a small laugh, not daring to touch all that other stuff with a ten foot pole just yet. 

“What’s going on in here?” Roger said, crashing through the door with a bag full of shopping, “Fred, you look positively distraught!"

“He’s got a crush on Deaky,” Brian said, bordering on sarcastic.

“Shut up! No I haven’t,” Freddie said indignantly as Roger shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the couch.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of this!” Roger said, winking, and making his way over to the Freddie’s seat at the table. While Freddie was trying and failing to predict was he was about to do, Roger leant down and planted a wet kiss firmly on his lips and proceeded like that until Freddie had to push him away, revealing a hysterical fit of laughter.

“What the hell are you doing?” Brian asked frantically. Roger just shrugged, a smug grin spreading across his face.

“Oh, Roger!” Freddie said as he collected himself, wiping the sides of his mouth exaggeratedly, “You’re a very messy kisser. Are you wearing lipstick or something?”

“It’s a balm.” 

“Well it’s very sticky, darling.” 

“I won’t apologize for trying to stay moisturized. You should see the state of Brian’s lips. Chapped beyond belief.”

“Would you shut up?” Brian asked witheringly just as they heard a noise coming from the hallway. John Deacon emerged from his room looking quite confused. Freddie startled and tried to look casual, fluffing his hair then smoothing it back down when he remembered what it was supposed to look like. 

“What’s going on up here?” John asked, “Swear I heard a commotion.”

“Roger’s just snogged Freddie for _no reason_. Seriously, did I imagine that?” 

“No. He put his tongue in my mouth!” Freddie confirmed, “I didn’t want it in there.” 

“Oh, sure,” Roger said with a smirk.

“Oh, you are so full of yourself, you smug little bastard,” Freddie said, reaching out to smack him, but Roger ran away and his behind Brian behind the counter.

“You’ll never catch me!” Roger taunted.

“I’ve seriously never seen him like this,” Brian said, “It’s like when he snorted that line of coke at Elton John’s party and wouldn’t stop exclusively travelling by pirouette.”

“Weird. Okay,” John said, remarkably unfazed all things considered. Still, after four long years of this shit a clandestine kiss in the kitchen was hardly big news. Call him when somebody’s fucking, you know? 

Freddie’s gaze was still following John as he moved around the kitchen, opening cupboard and cabinets in search of something or other. Brian muttered Freddie's name to get his attention and stop him staring. 

“I’m writing something back there. Just wanted to grab a snack,” John explained in an apparent attempt to diffuse some of the awkwardness he'd walked into, and brandished the granola bar he’d excavated from a drawer somewhere, “Holler if I’m about to miss any big developments,” he instructed only somewhat seriously as he left the kitchen with everyone’s eyes on him. As soon as they heard his bedroom door close again Roger seemed to snap out of it, emerging from behind Brian with clarity in his eyes. 

“So, are you sorted? Gotten it out of your system?”

“What?” Freddie asked. 

“Oh, please, it’s not as if you really fancy Deaky. I bet it’s just the proximity. We all must get curious what it would be like to try it on with each other, no?” 

“Jesus Christ, Roger,” Brian said.

“What?” 

“Is there something you’d like to tell us?” 

“No! I’m just saying,” Roger said, “the four of us, cooped up in here, Deaky’s the only one with a girlfriend… Everybody want what they can’t have,” Roger explained with a casual shrug. 

“I’ve got a girlfriend,” Freddie mumbled. 

“A problem for another day,” Brian said, running a troubled hand through his curls. 

“Besides,” Roger said, sounding entirely too cheerful, “No offense, mate, but Deaky’ll never go for you. He is absolutely head over heels for this girl, I mean, I’d wager they’ll be married by the end of the year. It’s bloody pathetic, honestly.”

“No need to rub it in,” Freddie said.

“Really?” Brian asked Roger, ignoring the moping Freddie, “Married? Already? Maybe Chrissie’s right. I do have a fear of commitment.”

“You obviously do,” Roger confirmed. 

“I think it’s touching,” Freddie said, sounding wistful.

“My relationship problems?” Brian asked.

“I think you’re projecting,” Roger said, this time ignoring Brian’s comment in favor of Freddie’s, simply following the conversation wherever suited him best.

“Didn’t realize you did psychology, Rog,” Brian a bit too condescendingly for Roger’s taste as he swiveled to face him. 

“It’s not really all that complicated, Brian. Fred’s lonely and unhappy in his relationship so he’s projected his desire to be loved onto the one person who’s least likely to have him. Simple physics.”

“Physics,” Brian deadpanned.

“I am sitting right here, you know,” Freddie interjected. 

“Yes, we know, _darling_ ,” Roger said, leaning down in an attempt to kiss Freddie again, who turned away, getting the peck on his cheek this time. Still, he smiled at Roger, nonetheless amused by his antics, his brown eyes glistening as he looked at him expectantly.

“And you see,” Roger went on, now pacing around the kitchen gesticulating wildly “he can’t go for me because I’m obviously totally up for it, and he can’t go for you because you’re too compulsively polite to ever reject anyone, so it has to be Deaky. Perfect, stable, and utterly unattainable white picket fence Deaky. I mean really, Fred, is that what you want in a man?” 

“Rog, that’s enough,” Brian said, holding his gaze just long enough to demonstrate he was actually serious. Roger stopped in his tracks and moved to take a seat next to Freddie at the table. 

“Sorry, Mum,” Roger muttered at Brian, meeting his still quite pointed stare. 

Brian assessed the situation for a moment. He knew Roger could make it turn on a dime, either into a full scale fight complete with tears and probably a few battle scars, or he’d turn it around completely and Roger and Freddie would wake up in bed together after a night of cuddles and self-styled lullabies. He figured after his warning Roger would be wise enough to shoot for the latter, so he tried to subliminally transmit the past thirty seconds of his internal monologue to him. Barring that going through, he squinted at Roger for a few more seconds before grabbing his mug of tea and turning to leave the kitchen.

“I’ll be in my room if you need me,” Brian said softly to Freddie yet still somewhat harshly to Roger and made his way out of the communal living area. 

“Did he seem to be acting strange to you?” Freddie asked absently once Brian was gone.

“He just is strange. No acting about it,” Roger said snidely, but when he looked back up at Freddie his eyes were full of sympathy, not derision. 

“I don’t know how I feel about you psychoanalyzing me, Roger,” Freddie said, still looking distant. Not upset, just sort of lost. 

“I’m sorry,” Roger said, placing a hand gingerly on Freddie’s near arm, pulling gently so he was facing him.

“It doesn’t necessarily bother me, actually,” Freddie said, “Everybody all the time is trying to tell me how I feel and what I’m like. My parents, Mary, the papers, our bloody management, you know. Sometimes it makes me wonder if I really know myself at all. But if there’s anyone that knows me…” Freddie trailed off for a minute, taking a deep breath, “Well, it’s you lot, isn’t it? It’s you.” 

“I’d like to think so,” Roger said with a slight smile, doing his best not to sound completely up himself. 

“And all this business with Deaky,” Freddie said, “Maybe you’re right. I think I just need to speak with him. I’m so worried he’ll grow tired of us, of this, of this life or whatever it pretends to be and I need there to be something tethering him here to make him stay. The problem is he spends all his time anchoring me so there’s nothing I can do to make him need me. Not when I need him so much more.” 

“Freddie, you’re amazing,” Roger said, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion at how Freddie could be so blind, “We need you. We all need you.”

“You need him more.” 

“How can you say that! You do know that you’re what makes all of us tick, don’t you? That you’re what gives us our fucking drive? You’re Freddie fucking Mercury, don’t you know what that means?” 

“Tell me.” 

Roger didn’t say anything. Instead, he moved his hand from where it was still resting on Freddie’s arm to his cheek, running his fingers along Freddie’s sharp cheekbone. As their chairs were close enough for him to do so, he leant over and pressed his lips to Freddie’s, for real this time. He didn’t press or push any farther than he was invited, waiting for permission that Freddie wasn’t quite sure what granting would mean. So Freddie just left it there, or there-adjacent anyway, letting their faces stay there, pressed together, Roger’s slightly parted lips resting softly between his. After a few moments there in the silent tenderness of tender silence, Freddie ran a hand along the back of Roger’s hair, tracing its trajectory down his spine and taking one last deep breath of the air full of his friend, before he slowly pulled back. 

“It means you’re perfect,” Roger said, “And that was from all of us,” he added with a smile, a real one, not a snide smirk or a self-satisfied cheeky grin, but a real smile full of affection and longing. He looked at Freddie the way Freddie must have looked at John, the way Brian sometimes looked at Roger and god, who could possibly know what goes on in the head of John Deacon? Freddie leant back in his chair, his heart rate beginning to subside, as Roger poured himself a cup of tea with the hot water Brian had left behind. 

“I’m going to check on Deaky,” Roger said, “You may want to give Brian a look in on, let him know you’re okay. If, you know, you are okay, that is.” 

“Yes, you do that. I might just sit here a minute more. I might be having a burst of inspiration, who knows?” Freddie said almost casually, reaching for a napkin and a nearby pen to make some notes. Maybe he didn’t know what he was doing. Maybe he didn’t even know what he was thinking. He’d already known that he would follow Brian May and Roger Taylor and John Deacon wherever they went, but now he knew they’d follow him too. Maybe it should have been obvious. Maybe it would have been to anyone else. Still, who knew where life was about to lead them, seeing as none of them was apparently flying the plane. _God knows_ , Freddie figured, _God knows._ So he wrote. 

 

_I live my life for you_

_Think all my thoughts with you and only you_

_Anything you ask I do, for you_

_I touch your lips with mine_

_But in the end, I leave it to the lords_

_Leave it in the lap of the Gods, what more can I do?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one, as usual, kind of got away from me? to be honest i never know where they're gonna end up when i start writing something but i had fun exploring these various dynamics and giving freddie and roger and tender little moment bc its what they deserve :,) anyway as usual let me know what you think!! i always love to get your feedback!


	5. I do like to be beside the seaside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in honor of reaching (over) 100 kudos on this section (!!), here's a little something for brian and john - set during the recording of seaside rendezvous bc that's just something that needs to be immortalized

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for brief mention of like... allusions to suicidal ideation, also mentions of brian being sick in like '74

A kazoo solo would have been ridiculous enough. But a kazoo solo without a kazoo? A kazoo solo consisting only of Roger overdubbing himself doing mouth trumpet noises for what felt like hours? Yeah, that was just right. 

John was manning the tapes while Brian felt he was doing little more than twiddle his thumbs on the ratty sofa at the back wall of the control room. Freddie and Roger were in the recording booth having what looked like the time of their lives, imitating a brass band and working out how to approximate tap dancing without the appropriate attire. 

“Thimbles!” Freddie exclaimed, causing both Brian and John to jump slightly, and even make sympathetic eye contact with each other from across the room. 

“Cymbals?” Roger repeated.

“Thimbles! For our fingers. I’ve got some in a sewing kit upstairs. Hold the fort,” Freddie instructed Roger as he dashed away, barely sparing a glance for his string section. 

“How does it sound so far?” Roger asked them into the microphone. 

“It’s good.”

“Pretty weird,” John and Brian answered simultaneously, equally noncommittal. 

“Yeah, I guess that’ll do,” Roger said, “Once we sort this solo section I think it’ll start to come together. And I think Fred wants to have some fun with the backing vocals, give it a bit more life, more volume.” 

“Wouldn’t imagine anything less,” Brian mumbled. John rolled his eyes.

“It’s silly. So are we. I’ll be here as long as you’re going,” John said into the booth as Freddie reemerged with about a half a dozen thimbles and an Eartha Kitt record which he chucked unceremoniously at Brian. 

“For inspiration, should we need it,” he explained.

“Naturally,” said Brian, slightly rattled and extremely grateful he hadn’t just accidentally smashed one of Freddie’s favorite albums. 

“Can you roll the track, please, Deaky?” Freddie called once he was back inside. John shot him a thumbs up and set the tape playing while the lads in the booth kept experimenting. 

“You don’t like the song?” John asked Brian.

“No, no, I do like it,” Brian said, smiling slightly, looking down as he spoke, “I’ve just got stuff on my mind, I suppose.” 

“A certain sweet lady?” John said. 

“More or less,” Brian answered. “She hasn’t been picking up my calls. Makes my imagination go absolutely wild. Can’t sleep for conspiracy theories, that sort of thing.” 

“Hm,” John said, “I’m sure she’ll come around.”

“I’m sure,” Brian said, wholly unconvinced. Still, it wasn’t as if John was really trying to convince him everything was going to be okay. In all likelihood it wouldn't, but it would just be a hell of a lot nicer if Brian wouldn’t be such a gloomy bastard about it all the time. John could tolerate Roger’s impulsive outbursts and even found Freddie’s displays of dramatics charming, but something about Brian’s depressive attitude towards anything and everything could make John want to rip his hair out. So for any number of reasons, he didn’t want him to be upset. 

Whatever resentment John may have felt for Brian and whatever steeping sadness Brian may have felt in general were soon tempered by the positively jubilant sounds of Freddie’s latest vaudevillian undertaking. John found himself compulsively tapping his feet while Brian absentmindedly mouth-trumpeted along with Roger, stopping only when Freddie requested another overdub. After a few more goes at the mock brass section, it was really starting to shape up.

“Now we’re getting somewhere!” Freddie exclaimed, “Can we get it from the top please, Deaky? Let’s do some harmonies, Rog, and go absolutely mad.” 

“Smashing,” Roger said, grinning, while John wound the tape. After he’d gotten up to perform his logistical duties as deckmeister, John stayed standing and leaned against the control panel. 

“Everything okay?” Brian asked from the back of the room. 

“Smashing,” John echoed Roger, “Why don’t you stand up?”

“What?”

“Dance,” John said simply. Brian laughed.

“I don’t dance.”

“I do,” John said, “It’ll cheer you right up, you depressive sod.” And with that, he pushed himself up and began to dance to Freddie’s new song. 

It wasn’t unusual to see John dancing. In fact, it would be stranger to be on stage and not see him at least bouncing in time to the music. It was strange, however, to see him swing dancing with an empty room with only Roger’s occasional amused glances for encouragement. 

“Are you having a good time?” Brian asked. John stopped in his tracks and eyed him from the middle of the room. 

“Dance with me,” he said. 

“Are you quite serious?” 

John didn’t say anything (of course he didn’t say anything) but a slight quirk of his eyebrow said something along the lines of _try me_. So Brian stood. And placed himself across from John, just close enough for the tips of their toes to touch. 

“You lead,” Brian said, a smile threatening to emerge across his face.

“You twat,” John said, but led anyway, taking them on a journey around the room in some kind of uptempo foxtrot, prompting a bout of hysterical giggles from both Brian and the guys in the booth such that he had to pause and rewind the tape, and when he turned around, Brian was still standing there, looking expectant and even the slightest bit hopeful for his return. 

“I thought you didn’t dance,” John said, taking Brian’s left hand in his right.

“I don’t,” Brian said, laying a hand gently on John’s shoulder, “You do.”

“I do,” John agreed, taking a cautious step forward, waiting to see if Brian would follow. He did. So John kept leading him around the room in a calmer approximation of their earlier fervor, his eyes doing anything but meet Brian’s.

Looking at John’s face, Brian wondered if he was feeling what people always said they felt looking at his own, like they wished they could just reach out and smooth the furrow in his brow. People said he always looked deep in thought, which, to be fair, he often was, but they also said he looked tortured, worried, agonized, and any number of slightly disturbing adjectives to be ascribed to one’s resting face. 

“We worry about you, you know,” John said, looking up from his meandering feet. 

“What?”

“You seem…” John hesitated, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was about to say next, ”fragile.” 

“What?” Brian startled, “Because of last year? I’m heaps better, you know I’m better, I–“

“Not that,” John cut him off, “Because you seem like you might look totally fine right up until the moment you snap. And do something you’ll regret.” Brian felt the “if you’re even around to regret it _”_ was implied. 

“Well, I won’t. I– I promise I’ll never do anything like that! Don’t be ridiculous, Deaky,” Brian said, his breath catching slightly in his throat. 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Bri,” John said, bringing them to a halt and lifting a hand to instead lay it gently on Brian’s chest. 

“Hey, I’m serious, I–“

“Please,” John said, lifting his hand and bringing it back down to his side. Then he made a noise that sounded like a laugh but was really just a sharp exhalation; he was barely smiling. “You’ve already done ‘in sickness and in health.' How are you feeling about ‘till death do us part?’” John freed himself from Brian’s already loosening grip to rewind the tape, or else ask Freddie and Roger if they needed anything from the booth as their “instrumental” section was nearing its close. Before he could get there, Brian reached out and grabbed his wrist, urging him to come back. 

“Hey,” Brian said, firm but not necessarily angry, “Don’t make jokes like that. And it’s none of your business, anyway.” John stepped back to face him, even taking the care to stand an inch or two closer than before, this time looking straight into Brian’s eyes. 

“Isn’t it?” He tried not to sound too accusatory, but he knew how he’d come off in Brian’s mind, either way. So he tried to temper it slightly, “You’re my friend. I don’t want to see you upset. And I love Roger and Freddie. If you get hurt– when you get hurt, I don’t know. It just about kills them, all right? They need you. So don’t be fucking around.” 

Brian’s eyes darted all around John’s face, trying to discern where exactly he was falling on the ever complicating spectrum between earnest and snarky. Deaky always lived on the cusp, in a liminal space Brian didn’t quite understand. As much as Brian prided himself on being reasonable, he did perhaps have a tendency toward the extremes: effusive politeness or decades long grudges. Maybe he’d do well to get involved with some middle ground. 

“I won’t,” Brian eventually said, “um, fuck around.” 

“Well, good,” John said, his breathing heavier than he’d realized it had gotten. He looked up to find Brian looking worried, an anxious crease forming between his eyebrows like it had been chiseled out of marble, immovable and permanent, the constant assurance that this man was destined to overthink things. He wished he could reach up and erase it, smooth it and everything it represented away with a simple swipe of his thumb. But there was no squaring the circle on this one. Instead he just reached over and wound an errant curl around his finger. He let go and it bounced back, and Brian traced the line of his raised arm with calloused fingertips, nearly getting to his sleeve before they had the living daylights startled out of them by a certain hot-headed drummer. 

“Oh, sorry! Are you two having a moment?” Roger called through the microphone into the now silent recording studio. Brian and John hadn’t noticed the track run out. 

“Shut the fuck up, Roger,” Freddie said as he grinned at them through the glass. Brian stepped back, not sure exactly what would have happened if Roger hadn’t interrupted them. He refused to make eye contact with anyone as John cleared his throat and stepped up to the control panel. Brian swore he could see a flush creeping into his cheeks as he spoke. 

“Do you need it again?” John asked, keeping his voice even remarkably well. 

“No,” Freddie said, smiling as he elbowed the still slightly bug-eyed Roger, “I think we have everything we need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had to resist very strongly the urge to call this chapter "dancer" but i don't think i regret it. as always this kinda got away from me and also i dont really know what it means but im just out here exploring these characterizations and stuff
> 
> anyway as always lmk what you think!! all your comments absolutely make my day !


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